


The Princess and the Painter

by MicrosuedeMouse



Series: Valentine's Day 2017 [2]
Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Prompt Fic, Royalty AU, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 23:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9850979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MicrosuedeMouse/pseuds/MicrosuedeMouse
Summary: Princess Cassandra spends all her free time with the court painter, Master Stone. The depth of their friendship alone is kept tactfully secret; when she falls in love with him there is no way to safely pursue it. Her parents then announce that they are offering Cassandra's hand in marriage to King Jenkins of the neighbouring Annex Kingdom. Cassandra is heartbroken, but the old king has no interest in marrying her - he'd much rather help her follow her heart.(Part of my Valentine's Day Fluff Binge, but it got too big and beautiful not to post separately.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the anonymous tumblr prompt, "how about a royalty au where princess Cassandra falls in love with court painter Jake but her parents wants her to marry family friend, widowed King Jenkins of the Annex Kingdom (but he'd rather matchmake Cassandra and Jake instead)?" This was the first prompt I received when I put out the call for Valentine's Day ideas, but I knew it would end up being a big one so I left it until towards the end of the series. (I cannot take any more prompts at the moment I'm afraid, but keep an eye out and maybe I'll have some more time soon.) I didn't anticipate it getting QUITE this far out of hand, though! The more I developed it the more I felt like the idea deserved to be a full-on novel-length project because of all the opportunities it presented, but omg I do not have the time to tackle that right now. (I was beating myself up for how long this alone took, but then I remembered 10k+ words in four days is quite an accomplishment, especially considering how damn tired I've been...)  
> @ the anon: I hope you enjoy this, because wow it really got away from me. Also, I seem to have forgotten the 'widowed' part when developing Jenkins, I hope you don't mind...

Cassandra sat on a bench in the garden, watching with a smile on her face while the royal painter worked. He liked to practice by painting landscapes of the palace gardens, and she loved to watch. She admired his work immensely, and she admired _him_ even more.

Master Stone had come to work for the king and queen a few years ago. In need of a new court painter, they’d followed the rumours of a great talent hidden in the southernmost part of their kingdom. He was humble, even shy, and for some time could not be persuaded, but they requested that he come to the court just to do one portrait of the royal family. Once there, he met the king and queen themselves, as well as Princess Cassandra, and was given access to all the resources befitting a royal artist. By the time he was finished the family portrait – a great undertaking an entire year in length – he had been convinced that he should stay on as the official portraitist of the royal family. He would work for no one else, but he would be paid handsomely and allowed all the luxuries befitting of a man of his stature. He indulged few of them, spending his free time painting in the gardens or reading in the vast royal library.

It was while posing for the first portrait that Cassandra first took notice of him. He was quiet, thoughtful, and rarely spoke to her or to her parents directly, but there was an air of depth and confidence about him that caught her attention. Later it was in the library that he roused her interest, and she used to look up from the lessons she worked so diligently at to admire him from across the room. She knew so little about him, but there seemed so much to know, and she found herself fascinated.

At some point she had looked out a window and noticed him painting amongst her rosebushes, and, intrigued, she’d gone outside to have a closer look.

“May I join you, Master Stone?” she had asked, almost shyly. There were few people in her life at the palace that she hadn’t known since she was a child, and his newness and mysteriousness were unusual to her.

He seemed startled, and perhaps embarrassed, but he bowed respectfully. “Of course, your Royal Highness,” he answered quickly.

Cassandra smiled softly. She wasn’t fond of the wordiness of her style, and wished she could insist he used a less formal address, but she understood the place of propriety. He barely knew her. “What are you painting?” she asked.

He looked at his easel briefly, then back to her, eyes lowered respectfully. “I’m working on a landscape of the gardens, your Royal Highness, to keep my skills sharp.”

“I’m a great admirer of your work,” she told him honestly. “May I watch you for a while?”

Surprised, he had given his permission. In the months following, she went to watch him as often as she could, even accompanying him once while he worked on a portrait of her cousin. Her parents were forgiving enough, so long as she maintained her success in her lessons, which were of utmost importance to them. Beyond that, her free time was generally hers to spend as she pleased.

Stone was excessively deferent, still – as far as he was concerned – a commoner in the royal court, despite his lofty position. Nevertheless, with tactfully phrased questions and a gentle stream of idle conversation, Cassandra was able to get to know him better, slowly. Eventually – provided there was no one else around – she worked him down to calling her Princess, though clearly it pained him at first. She began to cautiously dismantle his carefully-constructed walls of propriety, uncovering the deep, gentle soul beneath. In the library he read poetry, histories of the kingdom, epics of the great knights that had once fought grand wars to secure their fertile lands. He liked to paint flowers and night skies and lakes. And when a project he was working on for the royal family weighed heavily on his nerves, he slipped away in the evenings to the stables, where he would sit amongst the horses, more familiar to him than the nobles of the court, and sketch them in charcoal.

He also, she realized quickly, listened to and remembered everything she ever told him. He even seemed to remember things she never specifically mentioned – he knew which flowers in the gardens were her favourites and what time of day she usually finished her lessons. If she chatted to him while he painted, about the goings-on of the court or the books she was reading or the news from around the kingdom – he listened intently to every word, even when he didn’t seem to be paying attention. And slowly, ever so slowly, she began to engage him in genuine conversation, an actual back-and-forth in which he would offer opinions and feedback and valuable advice. He taught her ways to cope with her mother’s strict rules, how to better understand the body language of her mare, and the legends behind every constellation in the night sky.

Cassandra had always been intrigued by Master Stone, charmed by his artwork, flattered by his attention to detail. But it was two years before, sitting on a bench in the gardens and watching him paint like she’d done hundreds of times, she realized quite suddenly that she was utterly in love with him.

The knowledge struck her like thunder. She’d been watching his hands as he painted the minute details of the blossoming magnolia tree in front of him, gentle, skillful hands that had never touched her even once. And she founded herself longing for those hands in her own. Her gaze flicked up to the look on his face, that intently focussed expression, brows furrowed and tongue emerging just slightly from between his lips, a smudge of green on his cheekbone. She wished he would turn his icy blue eyes on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to break his concentration. She knew how much he loved to paint, and hated to interrupt.

It was powerful, her sudden desire for closeness, her wish to be near him and to know him and to touch him and to be the central object of his attention. She put a hand to her face as she thought. Her interest in him, her trust in him, her admiration for him, had long been growing unwatched, and now it was a great, wild garden of its own in her heart, untended and untameable. Somehow she hadn’t noticed it before, but now that she knew it was there, she could scarcely ignore it.

Cassandra found herself lost in this new discovery, thinking back over all the time she had spent with Master Stone in the last two years, thinking about how their tentative friendship had so gradually formed and all the things that had made her so fond of him. She thought about the unspoken secretiveness of their relationship; the more formal airs they put on anytime anyone else was present. As far as anyone in the court was concerned, she was an admirer of the painter’s fine work, and he was appropriately obliging to her desire to watch him. No one knew how much they talked when they were alone.

She was finally shaken from her reverie when he put down his brushes and began to pack them away. “Done so soon?” she asked him in surprise.

He glanced at her, smiling a little. “It’s growing too dark to paint by, Princess,” he told her, his eyes sparkling that wonderful way they did when he was amused.

She glanced around at the dimming sky. “I must have lost track of the time,” she admitted.

“You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet for the last hour or so,” he commented as he folded up his easel. “Is there something on your mind, Princess?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” she answered, rising slowly from her seat and stretching her arms.

“Is it anything you need to discuss?” Stone snapped his painting case shut, tucked his easel under his arm, and carefully picked up his canvas, finally standing upright once again.

“No… not today, I don’t think,” she said after a moment’s pause.

He looked directly at her then, something he still did fairly rarely, at least for any length of time. More often he looked down or offered her merely a split-second glance. When he looked straight into her eyes like this, though, his gaze was piercing, and she often felt that he could see deep into her. She wondered what he saw there. He held her eyes for a moment or two, saying nothing. Then the intensity passed and he offered her a polite little bow. “May I escort you back to the palace, Princess?”

“You may, Master Stone,” she told him with a smile. Lifting her violet skirt out of the grass slightly, as she’d always been taught, she made her way back to the gravel path that led to the palace doors, and he walked behind and to one side, making sure he was at a respectful distance when they approached the guards.

In the following weeks, Cassandra spent a great deal of time considering her newly-discovered feelings and her interactions with the painter. She had never doubted herself, once she’d become aware of what was in her heart, but it was worth thinking everything through. She was a woman who planned her actions, especially the ones that mattered. But the more she thought, the clearer everything became. The days that she didn’t have a chance to see him were by far the dullest, even if their separation was brought about by other, more exciting events like guests or feasts. Her heart pounded while she walked out to the garden or down to his studio to join him in the afternoons. And the more she thought about all the time they had spent together, the more closely she analysed the time they spent together now, the more certain she was that there was something between them, and not only on her side.

There was a connection, a mutual one. She was sure of it now. Despite his restraint, Stone showed his care for her. He always had. It was in his attention to detail, in the careful way he listened to her, in the way that he spoke so gently. She heard him with others, sometimes; saw the way that he was pure, laconic deference with her parents and the court nobility, and simply quiet and straightforward with his peers. With her he was kind, eloquent, even poetic at times. He spoke freely with her in a way she observed him doing with no one else. There were other signs, too – those intense looks they occasionally shared, or the moments of trust displayed between them. He allowed her closer to his paintings, especially the unfinished ones, than he willingly let anyone. She knew it wasn’t just a matter of respect, because if someone else of high stature asked to inspect his works in progress, he allowed it, but he was always full of silent tension when he did. When she stepped close to see the details in his work, he was relaxed.

And another clue, though one the Cassandra couldn’t really quantify, was in the royal family portrait. She spent most of an afternoon beneath it, examining its finest details. It was spectacular work, that was undeniable. But the more she looked at it, the more she felt that her parents were depicted differently than she was. The hard glint in her mother’s eye, the stiffness of her father’s posture. Faithful, she had to admit, but not quite as flattering as some past portraits had been. She, on the other hand, was painted with more softness, with more – she didn’t know how to explain what she saw, but it was there – affection. Great effort had been taken to portray the shine off her red hair, the soft hint of a smile in her eyes, the gentleness with which her hands were folded in her lap. She’d had to pose dozens of times for that portrait, for hours at a time on every occasion. She was sure she hadn’t looked so comfortable or happy about it for more than the first five minutes of any given session, and yet he had gone to pains to display her in the most flattering light.

The problem with the whole situation was that despite all her certainty, there was no clear path forward. She knew that her feelings were quite out of line, and a great risk to pursue. The court, of course, had its share of illicit affairs – she had no illusions about that – but so long as they remained merely unsubstantiated rumour, they could persist. The stakes, however, were much higher for a princess than they were for a lord or a duchess or some other, less important figure. Not to mention the fact that most of those affairs were between people of similar stature. Even if something could happen between herself and Master Stone, if they were found out, he would be punished severely. Being cast from the court would be the barest minimum of his penalties. Quite likely, she thought, he would be prevented from ever working as a painter again, if not imprisoned directly; banishment was also a possibility. Her own punishments would be less harsh, but never seeing him again would be more than enough.

Cassandra had always resented the strict rules of her parents’ world a bit. In her childhood she’d followed along with everything they told her, never quite understanding the discomfort that laid beneath her compliance. Her earliest confusion at their rules came about when she was told she could no longer play with her childhood friend, Ezekiel. Then, as she’d grown older, seen more of how the court and the kingdom operated, she began to understand. Master Carsen – the palace librarian and her personal tutor – had spent many years practicing critical thinking skills with her, only one of the many studies her parents insisted upon. They were unaware that she tended to reach different conclusions than they did. She didn’t care for their ruthless pragmatism, their consistent prioritization of the many over the few. She saw more nuance than they did in most matters, and she was more empathetic, as well. But never had she resented their adherence to laws and traditions more than she did now. She had spent much of her life planning how to quietly undo their damage when she ascended to the throne, but who would ascend with her was well out of her hands. It was a matter she had tried for many years not to dwell on, but now it was impossible not to.

One early evening she sat in the garden with Master Stone again. He had brought a lantern out with him so that he could paint the distant hills and lake as the sun set behind them, even while he was losing the light. Normally she wouldn’t have been permitted to stay outside at that hour – there was supper to attend, and then various courtly duties to look after – but her parents were in an important meeting with several lords and advisors, so she was left to her own devices.

Stone was laying the first colours on top of his underpainting when he glanced over his shoulder at the princess. “Princess,” he started carefully. “You haven’t spoken much this evening.”

“I’m sorry,” she answered with a sigh. “You’re right. I suppose I’ve been wrapped up in my own thoughts.”

“Well, it seems to me that you’ve had a lot on your mind lately,” he continued, turning back to his canvas. They often talked this way; she knew he was always listening. “I don’t mean to intrude, but you’ve often been very quiet in the last month or so, Princess. It’s unlike you. I was wondering if I could take any of the weight from your shoulders, if only by listening.”

Cassandra smiled, a little sadly. “You’re much too kind a soul,” she told him.

“This kingdom is in want of kind souls, if you ask me, Princess,” he responded. “That’s why I so look forward to your rule. Not to speak ill of His and Her Majesty, of course.” She could hear the trace of a smile on his voice, like there always was when he said these things. They often privately shared their distaste for her parents’ policies through such comments.

“Funny you should mention it,” she mused. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my ascension recently. Worrying about it.”

“Our kingdom could only prosper under a ruler like you, Princess,” he said around the paintbrush he held in his teeth.

“Thank you,” she answered, looking down with a smile. “But I suppose it would be more accurate to say that I’m worrying about what comes before it. All the things I won’t be able to change.”

Now Stone finally looked at her again, slowly removing the paintbrush from his mouth. “You can’t weigh yourself down with all of the things that are beyond your current reach,” he advised her. “Instead, look forward to all the good you’ll one day be able to do. You will change, and save, so many lives, I’m quite sure of that.” He held her gaze for a few moments in a way that he only ever did when he was saying something very important, and she wanted to cry from the earnestness of his sentiment and his faith in her.

She looked down at her lap. “As always, you’re wiser than you tend to let on,” she told him with a bittersweet sigh. “And you’re right, for the most part. I’ve spent a lot of time planning how to help the people recover from the damage my family has caused, when it’s my turn on the throne. But this is… it’s something I fear will affect me for my entire life, and it necessarily must come well before I’m in any position to prevent or change it.”

Cassandra looked up again and saw a thoughtful expression on his face as he painted, long, slow strokes. She could tell he wondered what she was referring to, and why she was beating around the bush so much, when normally she was more direct and open with him. But he was too patient and tactful to ask. Eventually he inquired, “In that case, is there anything I can do to help alleviate your anxiety, Princess?”

She bit her lip for a moment, wondering if it was wise to give in to her impulse. Then she asked him, “Would you come sit with me for a few moments, Master Stone?”

He looked at her again, a mixture of surprise, confusion, and curiosity. Then he gently set down his brushes on the lip of his easel and approached her bench, seating himself at the opposite end. He looked out into the hills, apparently nervous about making direct eye contact at such close quarters.

“Do you enjoy the time we spend together?” she asked him abruptly, impulsively. She did still believe he had feelings for her, but she was wondering all of a sudden how he perceived the relationship they had now.

“Of course,” he answered, glancing at her in surprise.

“Are we friends?” she continued, unable to stop now. “Do you trust me?” She bit her tongue, hard, but he still hadn’t answered yet – he was watching her out of the side of his vision, looking a bit thoughtful and a bit puzzled – and she rambled on, “I’ve had so few true friends in my life. The only lady-in-waiting I ever had became a royal guard, and I’m proud of her, but I see her so rarely now. And besides her I’ve known so few people close to my own age, let alone status. I was allowed to play with one of the fools when I was young and he was only a previous jester’s son, but to keep his company is considered below me now, so I rarely get to see him except when my parents call on him to entertain us. Last week I found a chance to visit with him for the first time in nearly five months. I only – I only want to be your equal. I understand why I can’t, but you should know that if I could be I would in a heartbeat.”

He had turned to face her as she spoke, an empathetic sadness in his eyes. Now that she was done, red-faced and distressed, he told her, “I do think of you as a friend.” When he was certain she had absorbed that, he continued, “I haven’t had many true friends in my life, either, Princess, though for very different reasons than yours. But I value our conversations and our time together. You are kind, and clever, and interesting, and yes, I trust you.”

Cassandra wiped at her eyes, part of her wishing she could have remained more composed, but the rest of her knowing that he didn’t think any less of her for it. “I love you,” she blurted. It just tumbled out; she was so emotional, now, that she couldn’t prevent it. Her eyes were still tearing; she wiped at them again and managed to look up at him.

He was staring at her. His face had always been so expressive; there was so much in it now. Affection, happiness, hurt, fear, remorse. He looked like he was feeling everything at once. She watched it all pass through his eyes before his mouth set into a hard line and he turned away. “It’s getting dark, Princess, and cold. I think it’s time to retire for the night.” Stiffly, he stood and returned to his things, packing them up in a hurried way she’d never seen him do before.

She got to her feet, heart breaking. “Jacob, please,” she implored. It was the first time she had ever called him by his given name, and he froze, his back to her. “I know it isn’t just me…” She saw his shoulders sag, then square again.

“Good evening, Princess.” He snapped his case shut, lifted the lamp, and headed quickly back toward the palace. It was the first time he hadn’t waited for her to go first. Crushed, she began to stride slowly back inside.

\--

The following days were agonizing for Cassandra. Of course, she understood Master Stone’s motivations; he knew all the risks of entering a relationship with her. Everything she had already considered, everything that had convinced her she needed – at very least – a _plan_ before she told him her heart. But she had gotten so caught up in an emotional moment and it had just _happened_. The next day she couldn’t find him anywhere – not outside the palace doors after her lessons, nor in the spot he had been painting the night before; she had searched the whole gardens and not seen a sign of him. He wasn’t in his studio either. In fact he disappeared entirely for several days, and whenever she managed to slide the question casually into conversation with anyone else in the palace, they reported that they hadn’t seen him, either.

It was six days before she caught a glimpse of him in the throne room, reviewing her parents’ requests for new works. He didn’t meet her eye – not that he ever did in front of others – but he did afford her one or two passing glances. Another three days later, she saw him reading in the library. When he noticed her watching, he offered her the politest of curt little nods in recognition. Her absent-minded tutor patted her shoulder lightly – he’d known her since she was a child, and was comfortable with a little friendly contact when they were alone – and encouraged her to concentrate. Another two days and she passed Stone in the hallway; their eyes met for the briefest moment, and she saw instantly that he was hurting as much as she was.

Finally, two more days after that, she looked out the library window and saw him painting in the garden. It was all she could do not to run. When she approached him, slowly, from behind, she asked, “May I join you, Master Stone?”

He paused ever so briefly mid-stroke. Without looking at her, he answered, “Of course, Princess.” Her knees nearly buckled from the relief of hearing his familiar greeting instead of one more formal; she had been terrified he would revert to the relationship they had started with.

She sat on the nearest bench and watched him for a few moments before she said, just loudly enough for him to hear, “I missed you.”

He continued what he was doing, and though she was certain he had heard her, for a few seconds she thought he wasn’t going to respond. Then, reaching down to swirl his brush through several different shades of green, he answered quietly, “I missed you too.”

\--

Things were strained for a couple of weeks following that. Stone was withdrawn, not going out to paint as often, not talking to her as much when he did. Seeing him only once, maybe twice a week was painful for her, in contrast to their previous five or six times. Cassandra started taking a book out into the garden in the afternoons, sitting just to read while she waited to see if he would appear. When he did she was overjoyed. When he didn’t she would stay out until dark, just in case.

Two and half, maybe three weeks passed in this fashion before she found herself saying something. “Master Stone,” she started one evening, in a pained voice. “I haven’t wanted to press you beyond what is comfortable for you. But I miss the friendship we had, the level of comfort we felt with one another. Our conversations. I wish we could regain that. I’m sorry I ever said something to harm it.”

Slowly, he put his brush down and rested his hands on either side of the easel’s lip. “Don’t apologize,” he told her, and from the tone of his voice she could tell that every moment they spent together was as complicated and painful for him as it was for her. “Don’t be sorry for speaking your heart, Princess. It… it meant a great deal to me to be your confidant in such a matter.” He was choosing his words carefully, almost as if he was afraid of being overheard, or of openly acknowledging exactly what had happened. “But I’m sorry, too, that it changed our behaviour towards one another. I’ll try to recapture that friendship, Princess, if you will.”

“Yes, please,” she pleaded. “Nothing would make me happier.” Then she bit her lip, knowing that the question foremost on her mind could only be detrimental to the agreement they had just made, but she couldn’t contain herself. “Jacob, if I were any other woman…” Now she had started and couldn’t finish, and she cursed herself for trying.

He hesitated for a long moment, then turned and met her eye properly for the first time in over a month. “No,” he said resolutely, and for a fraction of a second her heart shattered. Then he explained, “If you were any other woman, Princess, you wouldn’t be yourself, and I wouldn’t feel about you the way that I do.”

\--

In the following weeks, despite the difficulty of it, Princess Cassandra and Master Stone worked slowly towards regaining the friendship they had once had. Though it was challenging, they were making good progress towards finding that comfort again. Their conversations were almost back to normal, and they rarely lapsed into those intense, uncomfortable silences in which they both found themselves dwelling on everything that had been said – and everything that couldn’t be said – in the past few months.

They had returned almost entirely to normal, spending nearly every afternoon together in the gardens or in his studio together once again, when Cassandra got the news.

Her parents had called for her one evening; they had matters they wished to discuss. At first they told her that King Jenkins, old family friend from the small Annex Kingdom to the west, was on his way to visit the court later that week. She didn’t mind that; she had only met King Jenkins a couple of times in her life, but she got along well with him. He could be a little crusty around the edges, especially with her parents, and a little set in his ways, but he had always shown her a very kind soul. As she understood it, he had been a great knight in his youth, with many accomplishments to his name even before he was made king.

What they told her next, however, was far more upsetting. As she knew, the lands that made up the Annex Kingdom had once been part of their own nation, and though King Jenkins technically still owed fealty to their own family, her parents had long wished to fully re-incorporate his kingdom into their own. And in a move designed to further that goal, they wished to offer King Jenkins their daughter’s hand in marriage, in order to merge the royal families.

Cassandra didn’t know how to cope with this news, nor how to break it to Stone. In desperation, she sought out the only other friend she could imagine speaking to.

Colonel Eve Baird, a few years older than Cassandra, had been her lady-in-waiting when they were younger. Her father, duke of one of the northernmost duchies in the kingdom, had been a military man all his life, and with no sons to raise as soldiers, he had instilled a similar mindset in his daughter. He had allowed her to go to the palace as a lady-in-waiting to the princess when the king and queen requested, but she was hardly suited to such a role. She and Cassandra were close friends, and with Cassandra’s constant encouragement, Eve had done everything in her power to prove her worthiness of a position in the royal guard. Eventually she had earned it, quickly climbing the ranks once she was in. Cassandra was rarely able to spend time with her any more, but on this occasion she knew no one else to go to.

Eve’s room in the royal barracks was small and sparse, only a few wildflowers in a bottle on the windowsill to suggest that anyone even lived there. But Eve, ever the loyal friend, received the princess without question, bringing her inside and seating her on the little bed. “What’s wrong?” she asked immediately, seeing the expression on Cassandra’s face.

Cassandra spoke quickly, overwhelmed. “King Jenkins is a good man,” she explained tearfully as she reached the end of her story. “But he’s more than twice my age; he’s always seemed like a distant uncle to me.”

“Oh, Cassandra,” Eve said, and she pulled the princess into her arms. Eve was the only person who had never refrained from touching her in any way, and the embrace pushed Cassandra over the edge.

“That’s not the only thing,” she cried. Master Stone had arrived at the palace after Eve’s career in the guard had begun; she had no reason to know anything about Cassandra’s friendship with the painter, let alone everything else.

\--

It wasn’t easy to tell him, and by the looks of it, it wasn’t easy for him to hear. Stone laid down his brushes and stood in front of her, looking down and away. She could see, when he’d glanced up into her face, how his hands twitched – how he longed to brush the brimming tears away from her eyes. He swallowed, breathed for a moment, swallowed again.

“It’s a good match, Princess,” he had finally said, his voice hoarse. “Not a conventional match, but a good one. By all accounts King Jenkins is a good man, a true servant of the people. He’s devoted his life to his citizens. With any luck, he will be able to help you achieve everything in this kingdom you’ve always wanted to achieve.”

“I don’t-” she gulped down a sob, willing her voice to level. “I can’t marry him. The thought is- is unbearable.”

“Princess… have you got any choice?”

\--

King Jenkins had been joining them at the table for their meals in the two days he’d been present, but finally Cassandra’s parents left her alone with him one evening by the fireside. They were quiet for a few minutes, and Cassandra – seated primly on an ornate sofa, hands folded, whole body rigid with tension and uncertainty – wondered what he was thinking. Besides the meals, he had spent much of the last two days in meetings with her parents. She was sure there were many matters besides her to discuss, but she knew she was on the agenda.

King Jenkins stood next to the fireplace for quite some time, hands linked behind his back, apparently thinking. After what felt much too long to Cassandra, he turned and looked at her. “Your parents have encouraged me to court you.”

“I’m aware of their intentions,” she said stiffly. He watched her for a moment, and suddenly, in one of her ill-timed surges of stubbornness and rebellion, she told him, “I don’t want to marry you. My heart belongs to another.” Then she flinched slightly, already knowing she’d spoken well out of turn.

To her surprise, King Jenkins came slowly to sit in the chair across from her, looking unperturbed. “As does mine,” he answered.

She looked at him in surprise. He seemed to see what she was thinking, and nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

“I do seem to be known as the unmarried king. Princess, when I was young, I devoted myself heart and soul to a woman who did not choose me. But my devotion remains true, and never in all my years will I love another.” King Jenkins steepled his fingers, looking past her into the dark corner of the parlour furthest from the fire.

“So – so how have you responded to my parents’ proposal?” she asked him, uncertain how to process this revelation.

“I’ve denied it, but they are insistent,” he answered. He sighed. “Their motivations are transparent. I know they wish to fold my kingdom back into their own. And I am even older than they. I imagine their hope is that I will leave you a widow before long, and it will only make sense then to merge the kingdoms, since you could hardly be expected to govern alone.” The last part, she thought, was delivered with a little bit of derision. “I’m sure after that they’ll find another good political marriage for you. No sense wasting a perfectly good princess.”

Cassandra was amazed. She had never heard anyone voice their distaste for her parents and their decisions quite so openly. “You don’t intend to accept, then?” she asked hopefully, seeking an unequivocal response.

“My dear,” King Jenkins told her, meeting her eye now. “If I were to marry you, it would only be to then live many more years out of spite, and all with the intention of preventing you from being married off to someone else much worse than myself. We could claim you were barren, incapable of bearing me an heir. They’d hardly know any better. I’m sure we could make the arrangement work, if we were forced. But I’d much prefer it needn’t happen at all.”

“I…” she was stunned; this conversation was a long way from what she had expected. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “I could hardly imagine you were interested in marrying an old man.” He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. “It is hardly my position to ask, but if you could tell me the name of your beloved, perhaps I could find a way to change your parents’ minds? Certainly I have more sway over them than you do.”

Cassandra looked at the floor. “No. Not in this matter. He isn’t royalty, or nobility, or even a knight. His stature is far from enough to satisfy my parents.”

The visiting king nodded again, understanding. “Very well. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you, Princess.”

\--

It wasn’t for several more days that King Jenkins figured it out.

He spent his days in meetings with the king and queen and a scattering of advisors and noblemen, going over a variety of inter-kingdom issues that had cropped up in the years since his last visit – and politely rejecting renewed attempts to convince him to court the princess – and frankly, he was growing bored and irritated. He had worked hard for a quiet, prosperous little kingdom where his citizens could live freely; he had no use for the petty politics of this bigger court and all its power games.

He had spent some time standing by the window, daydreaming of the quiet laboratory and library back in his own palace, engaging in the discussion just often enough to make it look like he cared. His own advisor, Charlene, was more involved, but then, she practically ran the kingdom anyway. And as he stared absently into the palace gardens, he saw a man he recognized as the court painter stroll out and set up his folding easel at the crest of a small hill, the princess trailing close on his heels. And as she sat down near the painter, smiling at something he had said, and watched attentively as he began to mix his paints, King Jenkins did the mental math and came to the obvious conclusion.

He liked Cassandra. He had known her since she was a child, and while he was sure her memories of him were sparse, his of her were fond. She had been a bright, inquisitive, optimistic child, and a driven, intelligent, empathetic young woman. He could probably count their one-on-one conversations on one hand, but he had always felt a bit of a kinship with her. He had long had faith that she would be a far better, more compassionate ruler than her parents had been, or her grandparents before them. The longer he watched her sit with the painter, the more certain he was of his assessment. And the more he wondered what he could do for them.

King Jenkins wracked his memory for details, for people. He came up with three: that jester’s son she had always played with when she was little, whom he was quite certain had taken over his father’s place in recent years; that strong-willed lady-in-waiting who, rumour said, had become a high-ranking guardswoman since his last visit; and the genius librarian who had been responsible for all of the princess’s lessons ever since she was young. There would be a lot to consider, and he had no idea whether any of those people could be depended on to help. But a plan began to form in his mind regardless.

\--

“He doesn’t want to marry me,” Cassandra told the painter, not without a note of relief. “He’s trying to convince my parents to drop the idea, in spite of their insistence. I know this doesn’t solve everything, in the long run, but I’m so grateful I don’t have to face it now.”

“I’m happy for you, Princess,” Stone told her, but she detected a hint of regret, or concern, in his smile.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her happiness fading.

The painter paused in his work, a brushstroke half-finished. “Forgive me, Princess. I just… Like I said, I believe he would have been a good match for you, if you must marry a man of your parents’ choice. I fear you won’t be so lucky again.”

She folded her hands in her lap. He was right, of course. She hadn’t thought that far ahead; she had only been relieved that her freedom wouldn’t be stolen from her quite so soon. But still, she held out hope. It was all she knew.

\--

Colonel Eve Baird had been a little suspicious, but ultimately willing, when the visiting king had asked her to help him. He seemed to quite genuinely have Cassandra’s best interests at heart, and that was all Eve cared about, in the end. What she didn’t understand was what the palace librarian and the troublemaking fool had to do with it.

But, as it turned out, each of the three of them had a long history with the princess and a great deal of affection for her. Carsen, the librarian, had been teaching her since she was a child, and saw in her the potential to far surpass her parents’ expectations and even their limits if she was given the chance – and, it became clear when he spoke of her, he loved her dearly and wanted to see her happy and free of the palace’s restrictions. He knew, though she rarely confided in him directly, how much she coveted freedom and the chance to be herself, and he was willing to work towards her having that chance.

Ezekiel, the jester, for all the trouble Eve knew he caused around the palace – even if he never _did_ get caught – turned out to have a hidden heart of gold. He and the princess had been playmates as children, and he clearly valued her friendship more than anything else he had. Though they rarely had the chance to spend time together any more, as it was below her station, he said that she still treated him better than anyone else in the court, and still stole opportunities to visit with him on the rare occasions they were available. Even when she spent her time with the painter often five days a week, he told them, it never changed how often she spoke with him. She never chose Master Stone over him. It was obvious, the way he spoke about her, that he would follow her to the ends of the earth.

When asked why _he_ cared, King Jenkins smiled. “I’ve been visiting this kingdom every few years for decades to pay my dues to the king and queen. Princess Cassandra has always been the brightest point of every visit. I believe she can and will do great things no matter what her circumstances, but that doesn’t mean I won’t bolster her when I think I have the chance. And besides, I’ve been young and in love. She’s lucky enough to be loved in return. She deserves every chance to follow her heart.”

Eve stepped forward with a respectful bow. “You have my sword, sir. Princess Cassandra has my loyalty before anyone else. What can we do?”

\--

Ezekiel, the natural agent of chaos that he was, didn’t mind causing so much trouble, though he was a little sorry that Cassandra would hurt for it before she benefitted. That said, he also delighted a little bit in the nefariousness of what he was doing. He had to give the old king credit; the man was clever, and sneaky. This first part wasn’t really entirely necessary to the end goal, but it was certainly enjoyable.

The princess was following the painter down to a cluster of rosebushes he wanted to paint while they were still in the height of their bloom when she tripped. Despite the carefully-maintained landscaping of the gardens, there was a divot in the pathway, and she turned her ankle and fell to the ground with a yelp. The painter turned immediately, dropping his things to the ground as he went to her side. “Are you all right, Princess?” he asked in concern as, instinctively, he moved to help her into a sitting position.

Regardless of the pain in her ankle, for a moment all she could feel was his hands on her back. Then she hissed as she became aware of her own hands; raising them up, she saw that the gravel of the pathway had bitten into her palms as she caught herself, drawing blood. “I-I’m fine,” she tried to say, automatically, but she wasn’t. Had the gravel always been so sharp?

Kneeling in front of her, Stone took her hands in his, carefully brushing the grit out of her cuts with a rag he’d retrieved from the pocket of his apron. The feeling of him touching her for the first time in the two and a half years they had known each other far overwhelmed any pain she was in. Whatever part of her brain was still attached to her basic instincts drew a sharp breath as he touched the bleeding heels of her palms, but most of her was filled to the brim with the electric shock of his warm hands on hers. He let her go and moved away for a moment, going to the things he had dropped, coming back with the little jar of water he used to clean his brushes. Unused that day, it was still clean and clear.

He came back and Cassandra’s head spun as he took her hands again, cleaning the dust and grit away with a wet rag now. That was more effective. She looked at his face, the furrowed brow, the worried eyes. He was completely focussed on her hands. Pulling two more rags from his apron, he tied them gently around her hands. They were stained with paint, since their usual function was to be used as blotters, but they certainly felt better than the dust and gravel had.

“Better?” he asked, meeting her eyes now. It was the closest together they had ever been, she thought. He looked so worried, and his warm fingertips were still brushing her hands. She could barely breathe.

“Yes,” she finally managed. “Thank you.”

They stared at each other for a moment, not making a sound. Somehow, now that he had finally, _finally_ touched her, she craved him more than ever. It was unbearable. The look in his eyes was so heavy, so intense; she knew he was thinking the same thing, barely restraining himself. “Jacob,” she breathed, almost choking on his name.

With visible effort, he tore his gaze away from hers. “Can you stand?” he asked, voice straining.

“I don’t know,” she said softly. Now that he’d looked away the spell seemed to be broken, and she was able to catch her breath, even if everything inside of her was still vibrating like a plucked wire.

“Here.” He got to his feet and leaned down over her, offering his hands. She took them, her stomach turning so hard it almost hurt. He pulled her to her feet and she gave a tiny cry as she put her weight on the hurt ankle, tumbling against him as she struggled to catch her balance. He held her hands tightly, letting her use his arms to steady herself, and then he moved to her side and put an arm around her back. The contact sent a tingling sensation through her entire body. “We should get you inside, shouldn’t we?”

“I wanted to watch you paint…” Cassandra said, as if that weren’t obvious.

Stone smiled slightly and met her eyes again. He swallowed hard as he found himself in such close quarters again, and looked away quickly. “Princess, you need your hands properly washed and dressed, and ice for your ankle. You can’t stay out here all afternoon today.”

He was right, and she nodded reluctantly. He began to walk her toward the door, slowly and carefully.

In a high window, the jester and the visiting king smiled down at the scene. As the two disappeared from view, King Jenkins looked at Ezekiel. “You should probably fill all those holes back in before someone else gets hurt.”

Ezekiel shrugged, smiling. “The gardeners will do it.”

The king frowned slightly. “Why don’t you at least go make sure they know it needs doing.” It was less a suggestion than an instruction, so Ezekiel sighed and left the room.

At a nearby table, the librarian jumped excitedly to his feet. “I found it!” he announced, looking up at King Jenkins. He had been poring over the constitutions and laws of the two kingdoms all day. “You were right. It’s doable. You’re just going to need to sign off on one small law, and then the rest lines up through the loopholes.”

King Jenkins nodded, approaching the table. “Walk me through it.”

Thirty minutes later, as the painter left Cassandra in the care of the palace’s resident nurse, King Jenkins approached him from the perpendicular hallway. “Master Stone,” he said, and Stone looked over at him in surprise. “I have a proposition for you.”

\--

Colonel Baird approached her king and queen, head bowed respectfully. “Your Majesties.”

“Yes, Colonel?” the king said, a touch impatiently. “I trust your trip into the city with the Lady Charlene went as planned?”

“Yes, of course,” Eve answered.

“Then why have you come to us?”

“Well…” Eve glanced to one side as if thinking. “Her Grace happened to say something about His Majesty King Jenkins that I thought would be of interest to you.”

The queen leaned forward slightly. “Go on, then.”

“I can’t say how true it is,” Eve told them modestly. “But Her Grace believes the king to be considering your offer still, despite his continued denial. He is a proud man, and hesitant to change his mind publicly. But, according to Her Grace, His Majesty has been thinking further on your proposal that he wed the Princess Cassandra. He may in fact be warming to the possibility.”

The king and queen exchanged pleased looks. “Yes, that is certainly of interest,” the king answered. “Thank you, Colonel. You are dismissed.”

\--

That evening, over supper, King Jenkins turned to Cassandra’s parents and said, “I have an offer I would like you to consider.” Once he had their attention, he glanced at Cassandra briefly, then looked back to the king and queen. “I’ve been speaking with Princess Cassandra’s teacher, Master Carsen. He’s most impressed with her learning – as am I, from his descriptions. Certainly she has inherited the brilliant minds of her parents,” he flattered. “As I’m sure you both know, the Annex Kingdom is small, but known well as a centre of knowledge. My own palace is smaller than yours, but my library is larger. Master Carsen and I were discussing the possibility of bringing her to stay with me for, say, a year, to take advantage of my resources. He would come along, of course, to supervise her work and make certain it corresponds with your standards.” He paused to gauge their responses. Cassandra looked back and forth between him and her parents in confusion; she had no idea what was going on. Her parents, however, looked intrigued by his offer, perhaps hopeful that he was reconsidering theirs.

“I would, of course, play personal host to Princess Cassandra throughout her stay,” King Jenkins continued, playing into her parents’ hopes. “I’m sure the two of us would be spending quite a lot of time together, in fact. But for those times when I must attend to other duties, I hoped I might borrow one or two other members of your court to accompany her as well. Colonel Baird, of the royal guard, I thought would be a good choice. As the princess’s former lady-in-waiting, she could be her companion, as well as her bodyguard when necessary. She accompanied my advisor into the city this morning and I have heard reports that she is a most competent guard.”

“Yes. Yes, I believe we could part with her for that purpose,” Cassandra’s father said. “Was there anyone else?”

“Well, your daughter and I were discussing a few nights ago our shared fondness for your fools,” King Jenkins continued, glancing at her again. She frowned, knowing they had had no such conversation. She couldn’t fathom what he was trying to do, but it was worrying her. “I know it’s an unconventional request, but I have no such delightful entertainment in my own humble home. I wondered if we could borrow one of yours for a short while, to entertain us in the evenings.”

The king and queen exchanged a glance. “Of course,” the queen said, eager to ply the visiting king. “Take whichever one you please. We have several.”

“You’re too kind,” King Jenkins thanked them modestly. “I do have a fondness for the one jester – Jones, was it?”

“He’s yours,” the queen answered. She looked at her daughter. “Cassandra, this is an excellent opportunity for you. King Jenkins leaves tomorrow evening, so we’ll take tomorrow to prepare you for the journey.”

In confusion and alarm, Cassandra turned her gaze from her mother to the visiting king. He gave her a look that said _trust me_ , but she didn’t understand, and she didn’t like it.

\--

The next day went by like a whirlwind, leaving Cassandra no time to think. “He must be reconsidering our offer,” her mother told her. “So you will be on your best behaviour. I’m sure before long he’ll have changed his mind.”

Servants packed up her clothes and belongings for the trip while her parents lectured her on how to behave while she was away. As the day went on, she felt more and more panicked, wishing she understood what was happening. And even more than that, she desperately wished to speak with Stone. He needed to know. If nothing else, she had to say goodbye.

At some point she was transferred into Colonel Baird’s care while her parents went to look after something else. “ _Eve_ ,” she cried, eyes brimming with frightened tears. The guard glanced around and then took the princess into her arms.

“Don’t worry,” she promised. “Everything will be all right. Just have faith.”

The preparations gobbled up the entire day and before she knew it dinner was done and she stood outside, watching a carriage being filled with nearly everything she owned, not to mention many of Master Carsen’s books and the sparser belongings of her other companions. Eve and Ezekiel had very little to pack. There were also trunks and bags she didn’t recognize, which she assumed belonged to King Jenkins and his people. She breathed heavily as she watched the things being packed, not ready to leave without saying _something_ to her precious painter, but she couldn’t afford to fall apart in front of the king and queen.

Ezekiel brushed past her casually as he helped load the carriage, offering her a bright-eyed smile. “Everything’s going to be all right,” he breathed, so only she could hear. But she still didn’t understand.

Cassandra said a quick and formal goodbye to her parents, filled with more reminders of how she should be as appealing as possible to King Jenkins than anything else. “Remember how important this is for our kingdom,” her father told her sternly. Behind her, her teacher, her guard, and her jester were boarding one of King Jenkins’ passenger carriages.

King Jenkins came to her side. “Are you ready, Princess?” he asked. She looked up at him, eyes wide, and he smiled gently as he put an arm around her shoulder and guided her carefully to their carriage. The only other person inside was his advisor, Lady Charlene. “Come. It’s a long journey, I’m sure we’ll have much to talk about.”

She boarded the carriage, took her seat across from him and Charlene, and they set off. “Don’t worry, Princess,” King Jenkins assured her as they pulled away from the palace, immediately dropping the persona he wore for her parents. “My feelings haven’t changed. You’ll understand everything soon, but I haven’t the right to explain it all on my own. You should hear from your friends. You need only to wait until we’re far enough from the palace.”

She wanted to cry. “But I-”

“Please,” the king said again, leaning forward and taking her hand. “Don’t worry. _Everything_ is going to be fine.” Something in his tone told her there was more at play than she understood. Charlene was watching her, too, a sympathetic and comforting look in her eyes. Cassandra was still confused and worried, but she nodded and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to regain her composure.

An hour or so into their journey, King Jenkins turned to his advisor. “I think we’re far enough along, don’t you?”

“Quite,” she answered. She knocked hard on the roof of the carriage and it came to a halt.

“Princess,” the king said, offering her his hand as he pushed open the carriage door. She took it and allowed him to steady her as she stepped down.

The carriages behind them had stopped as well, and several people emerged from the next one as King Jenkins led Cassandra toward it. Ezekiel, Eve, Master Carsen – and Master Stone.

“Jacob,” Cassandra blurted, before she could stop herself. Tears sprang to her eyes, this time of relief.

“Your – your Royal Highness,” he stammered in answer, eyeing the company nervously.

“You needn’t concern yourself with the titles in my company,” the king assured him. “I don’t care for them myself, I promise.”

“What are you doing here?” Cassandra asked, still staring at the painter. “I- I thought I wouldn’t get to say goodbye to you. I was so worried.” Her voice cracked.

“King Jenkins asked me to come back to his kingdom, with the permission of your parents,” Stone answered. “To work on a portrait for him, as he hasn’t had one done in many years. I didn’t- I didn’t know you-” He stopped, and his hands were shaking. “I thought some time apart would be good, but I did want to say goodbye to you. I didn’t mean-” He brought one of his arms around his stomach and the other to his mouth, trying to compose himself.

Cassandra finally looked at the others and saw the way they were smiling at her. Eve took a half-step forward. “Cassandra, we did this for you. King Jenkins found us a way to get you away from your parents, and let you follow your heart.”

“What?” the princess asked shakily.

“I know you didn’t want to tell me who it was that had your heart,” the king said, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “But when I saw you with Master Stone I knew immediately. Cassandra, I know you barely know me, but I have nothing but affection for you. I’ve always believed you would outshine your parents, do great things. When I saw the opportunity to free you from the cage your parents had built, I had to take it.”

Ezekiel spoke up then. “He remembered he’d seen you with each of us over the years, and he asked for our help. We all want you to be happy, Princess.”

“I still don’t understand,” she said, turning her eyes back to Stone. She could see he was as lost as she was.

“He made a plan to get you away from the palace,” Master Carsen told her, smiling. “And he wanted all of us to help, and to come with you. Princess, I’ve been going over the laws of the two kingdoms – because of the way King Jenkins technically owes fealty to your parents, the laws are all intertwined. But because of the way he has structured the Annex Kingdom with so much more freedom than ours, if you’re there, you’re out from under your parents’ influence. There are just enough loopholes to make it work. I can prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

“You needn’t marry me, or anyone else of your parents’ choosing,” King Jenkins told her.

“You can be with anyone you choose,” Eve said. “You could even get married in the Annex kingdom – through all the laws and loopholes, it will stand up if and when you return home. Your parents can do nothing about it.”

“You really are welcome in my library and my laboratories to learn,” the king continued. “But not only for a year. You may stay as long as you wish, and so may your friends. Your parents can’t ask for them back – they can’t do anything. In the Annex Kingdom you’re exempt from their rule as long as you’re under my protection.”

Cassandra stared at him for a moment, trying to swallow this information. “So you mean-?”

King Jenkins nodded. “Come home with me and do anything you wish. If anything should happen to me, I intend to make you my heir, and the throne is yours. If you decide to, you can stay until your parents are too old to sit on their own thrones, and then you may choose what to do with this kingdom as well.”

“Anything,” she repeated breathlessly.

“Yes,” the king nodded, looking from her to Master Stone. “That’s the intention.”

The princess turned to look at the painter, who still stood with his arms crossed tightly and one hand over his mouth, trying to control himself. Their eyes met, and then she rushed to him. He caught her in his arms, and their hands were on each other’s faces, pulling one another in desperately as their lips met. Both of them were shaking, utterly overwhelmed to finally press their bodies close, to kiss each other like they had longed to do for so long now.

“Jacob,” she breathed as they finally parted for air.

“Cassandra,” he breathed back, and she opened her eyes to look at him, tears of joy making their way down her cheeks. His eyes were wet, too; she felt the dampness against her thumb even as he wiped her face dry. She threw her arms around his neck and embraced him, overcome, and he put his arms around her back and held her in return, putting his face in her hair.

After a few moments they managed to pull themselves apart, remembering they weren’t alone. As Cassandra turned to face the others, she saw that all of them were smiling.

“We should carry on,” King Jenkins finally said as Charlene nudged him and murmured something. “I’m anxious to get across the border before something happens to get us in trouble somehow. I’m afraid we haven’t the space to offer the two of you a carriage to yourselves, but I promise, when we reach my home you’ll have plenty of privacy. I’m sure there’s a great deal for you to talk about.”

There was a brief discussion, and Master Carsen offered to trade spots with Cassandra. He was sorry not to ride with her, he said, but he was eager to discuss the Annex Kingdom’s famous libraries and universities with King Jenkins, given the opportunity. He followed the king and his advisor – Charlene had been silent through the whole ordeal, but smiling – into the first carriage, and Eve and Ezekiel turned to board the second one. Before Cassandra could follow, Jacob took her hands and held her in place for a moment.

“I know you know, but I have to tell you,” he told her, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you too. I always did.”

Cassandra swallowed, wiping tears from her eyes yet again and smiling broadly at him. Then, unable to resist, she reached up to his face and kissed him again.


End file.
